Just A Thought
by Novalia1001
Summary: Quietly, the innocent thoughts of a simple Wallop channels all members of the Condor into a mist of Zen...


_**A/N**__: Propelled into action from conversations with Nanokitty, GoliathBettle and ThingWithNoTalent, some of the best authors out there—and severely underrated._

The sky was blue. There were days when the sky just seemed endless and imperial, flawless and forever a benevolent deity that greeted the airships with a fair wind and pleasant cloud cover. That blue within blue hue was mesmerizing should one stare too long, but the occupants of the antique Condor were too preoccupied to take hold of one boundary of the heavens.

It was easy to identify a task that had to be done, and it took time for that task to be struck from an endless list of cycles. More than once, Junko had heard Finn mutter, "But didn't we _fix_ that _already_?"

And among Stork, Piper or Aerrow's replies was a common jejune tone and clearly dismissive. Patiently, the Wallop pinned the large shirt on the cord slightly waving before him. Tied to his skimmer perched on the opposite side of the bay, there was one long string that he had managed to find among the paraphernalia of the Condor's many hiding places, and rather than cluttering the deck or the pipes along the hallways, he had hung up the laundry open to the outside, which made Aerrow think twice.

"I don't know, Junko," he had said. "It's a great idea, but what if Cyclonians attack?"

"Or Sky Sharks, or Merk Raiders, or evolved flesh eating ash-mist bats," Stork had added ominously.

Casting an amused glance at Stork, Junko replied, "I'll hook it up to my skimmer. If we are attacked, I'll just pull them all into the skimmer bay."

Finn who lugged by with a bucket heavy with water remarked, "Plus, it would be nice to have the sheets smelling of something besides the moss in the ventilation systems."

Radarr gave a disgusted expression that reflected his agreement.

"We're cleaning that now," Piper pushed him lightly. "Come on, Finn."

And so Junko found himself pinning up the last of the white sheets, and looked down at the empty bucket as though half expecting clothes to be there. Finn might have laughed, but there was a gentle tranquility to hanging out the laundry, and he sighed mildly disappointed that one chore was complete. Empty bucket in his hands, he took one glance at the sky.

And the image struck him silly.

What beauty lay in a single drop of eternal blue! He thought, _blue is a nice colour for the sky._ _I'm_ _glad it's not anything else._

Still, he continued to stare, and the more he took it all in, the more the Wallop began to question: Is the sky blue? Was it simply the perception of it being blue—the expectation of a mauve or turquoise sky that made it so?

Was the sky blue at all? What a scary thought! He began to form analogies within his mind, and he recalled Cyclonia. Amidst the many black and jagged uninhabitable terras were suffocating clouds of crimson and mystifying red depths that stirred something within his being that he would have preferred to remain repressed, asleep and never to arise again. Was there a word for such a vain sensation? Perhaps it was rage? An urge to do something so terrible, and the minute prickle of such in his gut was diluted by guilt in an instant.

But what other skies were there? There were the stormy days or knights of typhoons and not-so-pleasant hurricanes that painted themselves in swirling masses of grey and dark white, the underbellies of monstrosities bearing slicing wind and rain. Did that reflect an emotion? It certainly invoked a feeling of trepidation, of fear of the unknown and what was to be, but could it be that whatever natural storm makers there were, they had a will that was reflected in the passive mood of the sky?

Junko lay down on his back, tilting his head to the side as he entertained another bizarre thought. Weather with will! Already the mysticism of the crystals had perplexed him, and now he was creating imaginary consciousnesses.

He didn't hear footsteps until Piper interrupted his thoughts gently, "Junko? Are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine," he grinned, reluctant to sit up should his eyes turn away from up. "I was just thinking a little."

She smiled, "Thinking? About what?"

"The sky," he admitted, "like, does it have a mind of its own? Does it have emotions that affect how it looks?"

She laughed gently, sitting beside him on a runway half obscured through a line layered with clothing. "That's called weather, Junko."

"That's what I mean. Supposing that there's something up there that's making the weather just because it _can_, through these _things_ that we call weather?"

Piper clearly hesitated, and risked a glance upwards. The sky was beautiful, and slowly she had her wavelength match those of the Wallop as she questioned carefully, "Like a god?"

He smirked, "I'm not really one for religion."

"Neither am I."

"But what if there is a god?"

Awkwardly, "That would be unsettling. A god determining how we experience weather?"

"Or our perception of his mood," Junko added, shifting as he elaborated mentally on the latter point. "Our perception…of weather?"

"There you guys are," Finn's voice could be heard from the skimmer bay. "I've been looking for you! The bathrooms started leaking and…what are you two staring at?" he deflated at their totally airy expressions.

"The sky," they replied simultaneously.

A mistake that he would later regret, he looked up, and his joints went limp with subdued euphoria. "Kind of…makes you think doesn't it."

"Yeah."

Aerrow frowned, a thumb tucked under his thin as he rattled his mind furiously for an explanation. "Have you seen Radarr?" he turned to the helmsman, who took his post in order to check the readings. Aerrow tried again, "Have you seen _anyone_?"

With a slight twitch, "I don't know. But the sky has a nice…tone to it today, don't you think?"

Off guard at Stork's unusual reply, he looked.

And he began to think.


End file.
